


An Elippo Collection

by silver_etoile



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: Elia Santini and Filippo Sava are meant to be, in every instance of their lives. This is a collection of Elippo drabbles from my Tumblr.





	1. Elia Meets Filippo at the Club

**Author's Note:**

> The Elippo drabbles from my tumblr. Visit me at [azozzoni](http://azozzoni.tumblr.com).

Elia can’t believe he let Marti talk him into this. At least that’s what he says loudly over the throbbing music playing in the club. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s intrigued by all this. By the guys in skin tight clothes, glitter seemingly everywhere, neon and bright colors assaulting his eyes. He’s never been anywhere like this before.

Martino rolls his eyes and heads into the crowd without Elia, who follows closely anyway.

“What does Niccolò think of you at a gay club?” He asks Martino as they reach the bar (finally! Alcohol!).

“We’re just here to have fun,” Martino says as he gets them drinks. Beer. Good. Elia isn’t sure he could handle something bright and fuity. “It’s not like we’re picking up guys. Unless that’s what you want to do.” He laughs at Elia as though that is the last thing Elia would be thinking of.

It should be the last thing he’s thinking of. It should be, and yet, Elia feels strangely excited, surrounded by all these guys. All these guys who are so different from Marti. They’re loud and energetic. A lot like him.

He doesn’t have pink hair, though, and he’s not wearing a crop top with a rainbow on the front.

Elias eyes widen at the guy coming towards them, a smile on his face like he knows them.

“Martino, my baby gay!” The guy greets Martino as if they’re old friends. Elia spies the marginally embarrassed smile on Martino’s face. Who is this guy exactly and does Niccolò know about him?

“Ciao, Filo,” Marti greets him and the guy grins at Martino.

“So you finally came out to a club and didn’t call to tell me?”

“I texted.”

“Five minutes ago,” Filo points out. “Afraid I was going to shower you in glitter?”

“More likely you were going to give me a shirt to wear.”

They clearly know each other, Elia deduces, letting his eye wander over this Filo guy, the shiny ring in the center of his bottom lip, soft, dark eyes shining with amusement at everything Martino says.

Elia has met a lot of people over the years. He seems to attract them, which he is typically very happy about, especially when they turn out to be hot girls. He’s met lots of different people but he’s never met anyone quite like Filo.

“Oh,” Martino says, as if he’s forgotten about Elia. As if that were possible. “Filippo, this is Elia. Filippo is Ele’s brother.”

“You’re even bringing converts,” Filo says, eyes wandering down Elia and Elia finds himself wishing he’d bothered to care what he’d put on to come here rather than the jeans he’d been wearing and an old tee shirt.

Martino laughs, too loud. “No, no,” he corrects Filo. “Elia is completely straight.”

Elia laughs too, but he catches Filippo watching him and his stomach does a little flip, unexpected. He is completely straight. He thinks. He always has been.

“Okay,” Filo says like he’s not one hundred percent convinced by Martino. “How about we get you out on the dance floor and see what you’re made of?”

“No, no, no,” Martino whines, shaking his head as Filo grabs his arm. “I don’t dance.”

“You do tonight,” Filo tells him, and Elia blinks as Filo takes his arm too and pulls him along.

*

“You’re a much better dancer than Marti,” Filo says as they lean against the wall, out of the way of the dance floor.

“Of course,” Elia says with a cocky smile, though it’s really not fair without Martino there to defend himself. He’s gone outside to talk to Niccolò instead of shouting into his phone over the music.

Filo smiles and Elia finds himself wondering, just for a second, what it would be like to kiss a guy. He’s never thought about it before, not until Martino actually came out to them.

“I suppose you taught him everything he knows?” Filo asks and Elia snorts out a laugh.

“No. Gio gets the blame for any of Martino’s dance moves.”

Filo watches Elia for a second, like he’s debating something, weighing the options.

“I bet I know one move you don’t.”

Elia’s eyebrows go up, surprised, doubtful, a smile curling his lips.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, challenging. “What’s that?”

It happens fast, Filippo moving, pinning Elia’s wrists against the wall on either side of his head. Surprised, Elia takes a quick breath around the sudden arousal on his skin.

“Are you sure that’s a dance move?” he asks, testing Filo’s grip on his wrists. It’s loose, like he can escape if he wants to.

He’s not sure he wants to.

“What else would it be?” Filippo asks, leaning too close in the flashing lights.

Elia hesitates a second. He can feel the warmth of Filippo’s chest pressed to his, swears he can feel Filo’s heartbeat, or maybe that’s just his own thudding against his rib cage.

“Feels a little like flirting,” he says finally, swallowing down the heat rising on his skin.

Filo smiles, more of a smirk than anything. “Is there really a difference?”

Elia has no idea. He doesn’t really dance with people, and his version of flirting is usually telling an obnoxious story and hoping the girl will be amused by it. Not that it’s ever worked before. Some girls just think he’s cute or maybe dumb or maybe both. And that works for him.

Filo seems to be waiting for his response, leaning against him, pinning him to the wall, and Elia still isn’t sure how he got into this situation. He just knows that he doesn’t mind it.

Filippo’s lips are too close, close enough that Elia could just…

And then he does, without thinking about it, without questioning the pull he feels towards Filo. He leans across the centimeters that separate them, lips pressing to Filo’s, not quite soft enough for a first kiss, not quite sweet enough as his tongue sweeps over Filo’s lip ring and Filo’s lips part in return.

Elia breaks his wrists from Filo’s grasp, easily, coming up to Filo’s neck, holding on as Filo kisses him, as he kisses Filo.

Elia feels drunk, like his head is spinning with the slide of Filo’s tongue in his mouth, like he just wants more of it. It feels like his first kiss all over again, body tingling with excitement, unsure of what to do with his hands as they dig into Filo’s neck, unable to hold back the sigh as Filippo sucks on his lower lip.

It’s different than the first kiss, though, because he knows how to stand up on his toes and push into Filo, to tilt his head to the right angle so he can kiss the side of Filo’s mouth, drag his lips down to Filo’s chin, mouth along his jaw until Filo laughs and shoves him away.

Blinking, Elia lifts his eyes to Filo, who grins at him and shakes his head.

“You should go have fun with Marti,” he says after a minute, as Elia tries to work out what just happened. He really just made out with a guy. And he didn’t hate it. He actually really liked it. “And kiss someone your own age.”

_But I don’t want to._ Elia thinks but he doesn’t say it, leaning into Filo again, but Filo steps away this time, leaving Elia against the wall.

“Wait,” he says as Filo turns back to the dance floor, presumably to find someone _his_ own age to kiss. “Don’t you want my number?”

Filo pauses a second before he laughs and jerks his head. “Okay,” he says. “Give me your number.”

It’s not much of a promise, as Elia types his number into Filo’s phone and makes Filo do the same, but it’s something, he can tell. He smiles at Filo as Marti finally returns, biting back the questions rising to the surface as Filo greets Marti enthusiastically. It’s definitely something.


	2. Elia Comes Out to Marti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia decides it's time to tell someone.
> 
> This goes with a gifset, which you can see [HERE!](https://azozzoni.tumblr.com/post/180620009536/elia-has-been-working-up-the-courage-to-say-it-to)

Elia has been working up the courage to say it to someone because he just can’t hold it in any longer, these feelings that have been swirling around inside for weeks, ever since that night at the club when he’d somehow been talked into going with Martino, talked into going down to the ‘Gay Street’ for a night. Where he’d met Filippo for the first time, a bubbly, bright-haired guy with a brilliant smile that made Elia weak at the knees.

He’s been trying to figure out how to tell someone, anyone, and he figures Martino would at least understand.

He doesn’t entirely understand it himself, what he feels about Filo, except that when he’d found himself pressed into a wall with Filo standing over him, he hadn’t shoved him away. Elia hadn’t done anything except trace the curve of Filippo’s lips with his eyes, heart thudding in his chest, body tingling with excitement.

He hadn’t pushed Filo back when he’d leaned in, too close but not close enough, waiting for Elia to close the gap between them, giving him that choice. Elia doesn’t remember making the choice, but he remembers exactly how Filo’s lips had felt against his, Filo’s tongue sliding into his mouth, Filo’s hands around his waist.

He had even volunteered his phone number later on, after Filo had told him to go have fun with Marti and kiss someone his own age. He didn’t want to kiss someone his own age. He wanted to kiss Filo.

He’s been confused, but not confused, for a while. He keeps thinking about that night, thinking of Filippo’s text messages on his phone, the obvious flirting, the messages he’s jerked off to more than once over the past few weeks, and he knows there’s more to it than one slightly-drunken kiss at a club.

Elia isn’t quite sure what to do about the whole situation, and as he sits with Martino on the windowsill, he thinks if anyone is going to understand, it’s Martino, so he takes a breath and decides to go for it.


	3. A Lazy Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia and filippo spend a morning together.

It isn’t often that Filippo gets to wake up this way, to sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains, slow and lazy as he blinks himself awake and turns his head to where Elia lies beside him, pillow scrunched up beneath his head, mouth slightly open, a soft wheeze of his breath.

Elia sleeps like a wild animal, sheets tangled around him, his hand clutching whatever it can reach—usually Filippo in this situation, but sometimes just bunched in a sheet or digging into the pillow. It always makes Filippo smile in a way he would have hated just a few months ago, like one of those goopy couples in love, like Martino and Niccolo.

It’s one of those rare mornings, when both his parents are gone and Eleanora is off with her friends for the weekend, and he has the whole house to himself. When he’d texted Elia yesterday, _House to myself_ , he’d gotten back a slew of emojis, both suggestive and adorable.

Filippo still isn’t sure how this happened, this thing with Elia, Martino’s friend, another unsure teenager who stumbled into his midst. Does he attract them somehow? But it’s more than that now.

Elia stirs beside him, smacking his lips in a way that Filippo shouldn’t find adorable, but he does, and he can’t help his smile as Elia opens his eyes, bleary, only slightly confused as to where he is. He sees Filippo, though, and his confusion turns into a soft smile.

“Were you watching me sleep?” he asks, a tease to his voice, even after only being awake for less than a minute.

“You drool, you know,” Filippo says instead of answering Elia because, yeah, he totally was watching him sleep, like some lovestruck idiot.

“I do not,” Elia insists, rolling onto his back and stretching, kicking the covers off, down to his ankles. He rubs his eyes and sighs. “Aren’t you gonna make coffee?”

“I’m not your maid,” Filippo says, but he’s watching the way Elia’s eyelashes brush his cheeks when he blinks, tracing the pillow lines on Elia’s cheeks.

“Maybe I can convince you,” Elia says, rolling into Filippo this time, warm against Filippo’s bare chest, a secure weight against him, and Elia smirks, as though he knows just what to do to get Filippo to agree with him.

Maybe he does. Maybe they’ve been doing this long enough that Elia can press his lips just behind Filippo’s ear and slide his fingers over Filippo’s chest, tripping over his collarbone, and Filippo will feel himself melting, all sense of resolve slipping away.

“You make coffee,” Elia murmurs, his lips sliding down Filippo’s neck, a kiss here, a kiss there, and Filippo closes his eyes, not particularly concerned with what Elia is saying at the moment. “And I’ll make breakfast.”

“It’s almost noon,” Filippo replies, reaching for Elia’s hair. It’s soft and smooth between his fingers, and it smells like Filippo’s shampoo.

“Lunch,” Elia says, mouthing along Filippo’s collar bone, and Filippo shivers, just a touch. “Even better.”

“Eli,” Filippo says, though he doesn’t know where he’s going with it, if he even has an end to his thought.

“Or we could just stay here,” Elia says, smirking up at Filippo, like he knows Filippo is considering it. 

It’s criminal, really, what Elia can get him to do with just that boyish charm, a smirk, an arch to his eyebrow. Never did Filippo think he’d be taken in by someone like Elia. But Elia is loud and energetic and enthusiastic. He’s charming and expressive and he’s always down for whatever Filippo wants to do. And Filippo loves that about him.

Filippo sighs, pulling Elia up, away from his chest, mouth to his own, and kissing him easily, softly, gently. He doesn’t know why. He just wants to.

“I’ll make the coffee,” he says when Elia grins at him, like a puppy in love. It makes his heart clench in the dumbest way. “You did not convince me.”

“Didn’t I?” Elia laughs as Filippo rolls away, out of bed, grabbing a shirt off the floor. It’s wrinkled as he pulls it on, but he doesn’t care.

Glancing back, he can’t help but shake his head at Elia stretched out on the bed, like getting the whole bed to himself was the plan all along.

“I’m not bringing it to you in bed,” Filippo says, tossing Elia’s pants at him, and Elia jerks as they hit him in the chest.

“What kind of boyfriend are you?” Elia asks, and Filippo pauses, watching Elia slide off the bed and struggle with his pants. Elia turns to him finally when he doesn’t reply, tilting his head to the side. “What?”

“You’ve never called me that before,” Filippo says before he can stop himself. It’s so cliche, so maddeningly stupid that Filippo cares what Elia calls him. He feels so much like a straight couple right now, it’s ridiculous.

Elia makes that face he makes when he doesn’t understand why something is weird. “Is that not right? What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Nothing,” Filippo says, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. He’s not supposed to care about these things. “That’s fine.”

Elia steps up to him, reaching for his face, searching his expression. “’Cause if you don’t wanna be boyfriends, that’s cool. I can just go—”

“No, no,” Filippo interrupts him, grabbing Elia by the waist as he starts to turn. “You’re not getting out of making lunch.”

Elia smiles again, bright and easy, and Filippo hates that his heart skips a beat. He is so fucking gone on this kid, it’s unbelievable.

“Is that all I’m good for?” Elia asks, eyebrows as high as they’ll go, but he leans into Filippo’s grip. “The cooking?”

“Among other things,” Filippo says, kissing that knowing smirk right off Elia’s face. “That’s the kind of boyfriend you are.”

He feels Elia’s grin against his lips as he kisses him again, kissing away the feeling of embarrassment, letting himself actually enjoy knowing that Elia wants to be his boyfriend, that he has a boyfriend for the first time in forever. Maybe it’s not so bad to be one of those disgusting couples after all.

“Alright,” Elia says after a long moment pressed together, slow, sweeping kisses that leave Filippo slightly lightheaded. “Let’s see if you even have anything worth making in this kitchen of yours.”

Filippo lets Elia go around him, out to the hall, and he watches him go for a minute, into the sunlight and what’s left of the morning.

“You can get a much better view of my ass from the kitchen,” Elia says as he reaches the end of the hall and glances back.

Rolling his eyes, Filippo follows after him. That’s the kind of boyfriend he is.


	4. Elia and Filippo Get Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filippo isn't sure Elia's really ready to be something more. Elia proves him wrong.
> 
> This goes with a gifset you can see [HERE!](https://azozzoni.tumblr.com/post/181236682781/elia-changed-his-shirt-he-changed-it-three-times)

Elia changed his shirt. He changed it three times because he wouldn’t admit how nervous he actually was. He was going on a date, a date with Filippo, a date with a guy, even. His first date with a guy. He wasn’t nervous because it was a guy. Elia had known for a while now that he liked both men and women. It was just that he had never found a guy who liked him back before.

And now he had Filo. 

Well, he didn’t really have him. They’d flirted, made suggestive comments to each other, sat too close during parties. Filippo’s hand had brushed against Elia’s one too many times when no one was looking. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that Elia had found himself alone with Filo, circumstances catching him at Martino’s place while Martino went out to get food and Filippo had been there for some unknown reason, fiddling with the FIFA controller, looking bored.

Elia had half offered to teach him how to play, but Filo had dumped the controller before he got the words out of his mouth and leaned back on the couch, shirt rising as he stretched, and Elia felt his mouth go dry.

“You okay there?” Filo had asked, grabbing Elia’s shoulder and giving him a shake when he only mouthed like a fish, lost for words for the first time in his life.

“Fine,” he’d said finally, feeling Filippo’s hand burning through his shirt.

He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, how he had ended up half on top of Filo, his hand up Filo’s shirt, their mouths pressed together, tongues sliding past lips, teeth tugging at Filo’s lip ring. He wasn’t sure how any of that had happened in the few minutes they were alone. He just knew that he liked it.

Since then, Elia couldn’t stop thinking about Filippo, about his bleached hair, his soft, plush lips, the scrape of stubble on Elia’s cheeks that still made him shudder just thinking about it. But it was more than that. It was butterflies and nerves in his stomach when he saw Filo’s name pop up in a text message. It was dumb shit like finding himself daydreaming in class about the way Filo smiled at him that day on the couch, the way he patted Elia’s cheek a second before Martino came barging back in, and said, “You’re adorable, Elia.”

Adorable wasn’t usually something Elia wanted to be, but coming from Filippo, it didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

They’d made out again a week later, at one of the Radio Osvaldo parties that Elia may or may not have weaseled an invitation out of Marti when he heard it was going to be at Eleanora’s house. With his hands in Filippo’s hair and Filippo’s hands gripping his waist, Elia knew there had to be more to it than this, even though this was amazing.

“Why are you stopping?” Elia asked when Filippo pulled away from his lips, red and swollen, but Elia didn’t care. He wanted more of Filippo. More of Filo’s fingers digging into his hips, more of Filo’s mouth sliding down his neck to leave a mark.

Filippo gazed at him for a long moment, the sounds of the party outside the bedroom door, music thudding through the walls.

“I’m kind of over the hooking up in secret thing,” he said after a minute. “You’re cute and all, but I don’t have time to waste on closeted guys.”

“I’m not in the closet,” Elia insisted, letting his fingers glide over Filippo’s abs under his shirt, and Filo raised an eyebrow.

“So are we going to go out then?”

Elia opened his mouth but hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to. God, he wanted to get Filo to himself for more than a few minutes, but that meant admitting it, admitting that he liked Filo to the whole world (when he still hadn’t told Gio or Martino about this), and it would mean going on an actual date. Elia hated to admit it, but he hadn’t been on very many actual dates, with dinner and hand-holding and talking about things. He tended to just hook up with girls at parties. That counted as a date, right?

“I…” he said, and that seemed to be enough for Filippo, who smoothed Elia’s hands away and stepped away from him.

“It was fun, but you’re just not ready, and I don’t have time to wait.”

Elia tried to think of something to say as Filo left him alone in the bedroom, gritting his teeth and groaning as the door shut behind him. Fuck. He’d messed that up.

Another week, and several somewhat awkward admissions to the boys (in which he had been heartily congratulated and reprimanded for the way he’d handled the situation), Elia found himself outside Filo’s apartment, somehow working up the courage to ask him out, to make it real. His heart had been pounding as Filo gave him that look, like he wasn’t sure why Elia was even there.

But he’d done it. He’d asked, had watched Filo’s face contort in a momentary doubt of his words, but Elia was sure about this, as sure as he’d ever been about anything.

And now Elia stood in front of the mirror, making a face at his shirt. He’d never cared much about what he wore. He almost texted Martino, but then he remembered that Martino’s fashion sense was even worse than his. So he grabbed his cleanest black shirt and pulled it on, telling himself to stop being so goddamn nervous. Just because it was his first real date, first real date with Filippo, he didn’t need to turn into a shaking mess.

Grabbing his keys, Elia left his apartment, taking the bus over to Filo’s, nerves growing stronger with every minute that passed, every step towards Filo’s house, when he pressed the buzzer and stood back to wait.

Filo bounced out of the house, pausing to take him in, and Elia’s heart seized in his chest, scared and excited and confused all at the same time. He didn’t think he’d felt so many emotions all at once before. Filippo’s eyes flicked to his and he smiled, and Elia felt himself exhale, relieved.

“Nice shirt,” was all Filo said, and when he took Elia’s hand a second later, Elia could only blink, a smile taking over his face as he turned with Filippo and headed down the street. He could definitely do this. He was definitely ready.


	5. Filippo Meets Elia at a Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filippo is forced to chaperone Ele's party, so he's at least going to have fun teasing Marti's straight-guy friend. At least, he thought he was straight?

Filippo was more than a little drunk. If he had to spend the evening ‘chaperoning’ Ele and her friends on his Friday night, he deserved to get drunk off his parents wine.

It wasn’t that Filippo minded so much spending time with Ele’s friends, but staying home to make sure the house didn’t get trashed instead of going out and finding someone to hook up with at a club wasn’t his idea of a good night.

“You don’t have to stay, Filo,” Eleonora told him as she and Eva set out drinks and he swiped a bottle for himself.

“After that whole _Eduardo_ mess, you think I’d leave you alone with alcohol?”

Ele merely glared at him. “I’m perfectly fine, and so is Edo.”

Filippo rolled his eyes. If none of that had happened, he wouldn’t be stuck here playing babysitter. Not that his parents knew the extent of it all, but they knew something was up, which might have been why his dad had pulled Filippo aside before he left and told him to keep an eye on things.

Which meant getting drunk as Ele and her friends partied in their living room. The only bright side was that Marti had shown up with Nico and his friends, so at least there was someone cute to look at.

Filippo lounged on the couch, watching Martino and Nico huddled away in a corner, exchanging kisses and generally being sickeningly cute.

“It’s gross, isn’t it?”

Elia plopped down beside Filo, nodding at Martino. Filippo glanced at him, taking a minute to consider Elia. Even though he’d known Elia several months, he wasn’t sure they’d actually had a real conversation. 

“Why? Because it’s two guys?” Filippo asked, taking another swig from his bottle. He didn’t really know Elia well enough to know his take on everything, though Martino had never mentioned any of his friends being homophobic.

Elia shook his head, prying the bottle out of Filippo’s hand despite Filippo’s offended stare. That was his bottle. It was the only thing getting him through the night. 

Elia took a drink, and Filippo found himself watching Elia’s throat muscles, and he shook himself. He shouldn’t go there.

“Because they somehow make you want what they have and hate them for having it at the same time.”

Filippo snorted, taking the bottle back from Elia. “You want someone to make out with?” he asked, ignoring the way the words jumbled up in his mouth, swishing around like the letters couldn’t quite come together.

Elia shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’ll make out with you, if you’re that desperate,” Filippo said, grinning at Elia and the way Elia froze slightly, as if surprised. It was so easy to get straight boys. Even mention the idea of doing something gay, and they freaked out.

Elia didn’t respond for a moment, and Filippo was fairly sure he was plotting an escape route as he watched the wheels turn in Elia’s head. But then Elia inclined forward.

“If you had to choose between Gio and me, who would you choose?”

Filippo glanced over at Gio where he was flirting with some girl. He had to admit that Gio had that beautiful handsome face and enough charm to get that pants off anyone, but Elia had that in-your-face charisma and his cute little ear piercing, eyes sincere as he waited for Filippo’s answer, like he actually cared.

“You, of course, darling,” Filippo assured him after a second, catching Elia’s lips splitting into a grin, and he wondered at it for a second. He needed more alcohol.

“Yeah?” Elia asked as Filippo finished off his bottle. He already felt light-headed and sitting here with Elia grinning at him wasn’t helping.

“Look at that mouth,” Filippo said before he thought about it, leaning his shoulder into Elia’s. It was so easy to tease boys like Elia, boys who only thought of girls, of what girls could do for them. “I could think of a million things you could do with it.”

He smiled as Elia’s cheeks went pink, eyes widening slightly, but Elia didn’t rush out of there, didn’t untangle himself from the couch with a terrible excuse and attach himself to the nearest girl.

“Really?” Elia asked, voice quieter now, and Filippo could feel the heat where their shoulders pressed together.

“Oh, yeah,” Filippo assured him, tilting his head to the side, flicking his tongue over his lip ring, the music changing behind them to something deep and dark, a shaking beat that rattled the glasses on the table. He could feel it on his skin, buzzing, thudding through his chest as Elia watched him, hanging on his every word. “I bet you’d be good at it too.”

Filippo didn’t know why he was doing this, why he was taking this so far. Most guys would have fucked out of there by now, too worried he was being serious, but not Elia, who seemed to be getting closer, or maybe the whole room was just swaying with Filippo.

“I am,” Elia said after a second and Filippo frowned.

“You’re what?”

Elia scooted closer on the couch, not that there was much space between them to begin with. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, Filippo thought, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Good at it,” Elia replied, leaning in, and Filippo felt his eyes widen as Elia’s lips landed on his.

He hadn’t expected this result, hadn’t expected for Elia to lick into his mouth, opened in surprise, for Elia’s hands to find his thighs as he pressed closer. He hadn’t expected any of this, but it didn’t stop him from curling a hand around Elia’s neck and opening his mouth to Elia’s kisses, a little wet, a little sloppy, but they’d both had plenty to drink.

If anything, Elia was enthusiastic, biting down on Filippo’s bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth, making a soft noise that shot straight through Filippo. There was no way he was sober enough to get it up, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting to this boy in his lap, skin hot, fingers digging into the back of Elia’s neck.

“I thought you were supposed to be chaperoning,” a teasing voice cut through Filippo’s thoughts, and Elia pulled back before he could.

“Fuck off, Ele,” he told her, but he was watching Elia, knowing they’d been caught red-handed. Elia didn’t struggle off the couch, his mouth red, eyes still on Filippo.

Eleonora only snorted as she turned away, leaving him with Elia on the couch. This was it, Filippo thought, the moment Elia came to his senses and never spoke to him again. He didn’t expect for Elia to meet his gaze, eyes shining.

“Maybe we should go to your room,” he said, and Filippo raised his eyebrows, surprised despite himself.

“I think I’m a little too drunk for that,” he said instead, reaching for Elia’s thigh when Elia sat back, a momentary flicker of something on his face, maybe disappointment, maybe doubt. “But give me your number and I’ll text you when I’m not.”

Elia’s smile reappeared, and Filippo sat back as Elia entered his phone number. It hadn’t been the night he’d been expecting, but somehow, it had been better.


	6. Elia Cooks Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the box.

The pasta simmered on the stove and Elia yanked open the cupboard, searching for the oil. His dad’s cupboard was pretty empty, all things considered, but Elia had brought most of what he needed.

“So what are we having?” Filippo appeared in the doorway, a glass of wine clutched in his hand, and Elia shot him a look.

“You’re not supposed to be in here yet,” he said, frowning as Filippo completely ignored him, setting his glass down and crowding Elia up against the counter.

“But I’m hungry,” he said, “and not just for pasta.”

Normally, Elia wouldn’t have shoved Filippo back after that, not with Filippo’s hand grazing up his side, but he did.

“You’ll just have to wait.”

Filippo made a face, and Elia turned back to the stove, knowing Filippo was behind him. He could feel Filippo’s hand resting on his hip as he stepped up behind him, pressing kisses to Elia’s neck, as though trying to distract him from the food currently cooking.

“Filo,” he said, and Filippo sighed, stepping back.

“What’s wrong?” Filippo asked. “I thought you wanted to do this.”

Pausing, Elia turned to face Filippo, nerves catching in his throat, unexpected, but everything felt unexpected when it came to Filippo. Elia never knew what to expect, and he kind of liked that.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted finally, clutching the countertop behind him, watching Filippo frown.

“Cooked dinner?”

Elia smiled at Filippo, just for a second, the mood lighter. “Cooked dinner for a person,” he said slowly, chewing on his bottom lip and watching Filippo’s reaction.

Filippo immediately smiled. “Aw, that’s adorable.”

“It’s not adorable,” Elia protested, rolling his eyes. Of course, Filippo wouldn’t think it was a big deal. Filippo had probably gone on lots of dates where they invited him home, made him dinner, spent the evening curled up on the couch. Filippo was that kind of guy that everyone wanted, and Elia still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten him.

He turned away from Filippo, busying himself with the food, grabbing a knife to cut up the vegetables.

“Okay, not adorable,” Filippo corrected himself, sliding in behind Elia, snaking a hand around his waist, and Elia didn’t really feel better.

He’d felt nervous all evening, like one mistake was going to screw everything up, even though he knew Filippo wouldn’t leave just for that. Elia had already made plenty of mistakes where Filippo was concerned, and Filippo was still there, tucking his chin over Elia’s shoulder and watching him chop vegetables.

“I think it’s nice,” Filippo said instead, and Elia frowned. “Especially if you turn out to be a good cook.”

“I’m a great cook,” Elia replied, but he wasn’t reassured quite yet. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous about this. Maybe because before Filippo, all he’d done on dates was make out in movie theaters or hook up in bathrooms at parties. Before Filippo, he’d never cared about actually talking to the person, finding out what their favorite color was or what they wanted to study at university.

He wasn’t sure if it was because he was older now or maybe because Filippo wouldn’t let him get away with just being a hook-up. Or maybe Elia simply wanted to get to know   
Filippo, to ask how his classes were and listen to him complain about the bitchy girl in his photography class who thought she was Annie Leibovitz.

Filippo pressed a kiss to Elia’s neck. “I’ve never done this either,” he said, and Elia craned his neck to look at Filippo behind him.

“Cooked dinner?” he asked, though he was sure that wasn’t what Filippo meant.

Filippo smiled, tugging at Elia’s ear piercing. “Had someone cook for me.”

“Really?” Elia asked, turning around fully. He found that hard to believe, but it made him feel better that he wasn’t alone here, maybe wasn’t the only nervous one when Filippo nodded.

“So you get to be the first.”

“What an honor,” Elia joked, but he felt relief wash over him, as though he could finally relax, as if maybe he wasn’t going to screw this up.

“It is,” Filippo said, completely serious, pulling Elia’s face to his, hands on his neck. “But stop worrying, okay?”

“I never worry,” Elia replied, but he caught Filippo’s grin as he kissed Filippo, throwing himself into it, chasing Filippo’s tongue. “Oh, shit,” he said as the pasta boiled over behind him, spilling onto the stove with a hiss. “This is why you shouldn’t be in here.”

“Because I’m too distracting?” Filippo asked with a self-satisfied grin.

“Yes,” Elia answered honestly, and Filippo’s face lit up gleefully. “Just let me make you dinner. I promise you’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Filippo replied, patting Elia’s side as he grabbed his wine glass. He didn’t leave the kitchen, though moving back to lean against the counter and watch Elia instead.

Glancing over, Elia couldn’t help smiling at Filippo and shaking his head. If he had to bet, he’d say he and Filippo were in for a lot of firsts together, and he was looking forward to it.


	7. Elia Catches Feelings

“Oh fuck,” Elia cursed, biting his lip against the heat coursing through the body, the pressure of Filippo inside him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Filippo didn’t respond as Elia came, arching off the bed, fingers wrapped tight around his arms. 

Sliding down, Elia panted for breath, keeping his eyes closed as the feeling of release washed over him. He’d never imagined sex could be quite as good with a guy as it was with a girl, but Filippo had proven him wrong, several times over.

Lying on Filippo’s bed, Elia sighed, content, sweat drying on his skin, the flush receding. A part of him never wanted to leave this bed, wanted to do _that_ forever.

It had only been a few times he and Filippo had hooked up, a blowjob here, a handjob there, sex in a bathroom once during a party when Elia was supposed to be taking advantage of Gio being gone to talk to Sofia. It was nice, hooking up with Filippo. There were no awkward texts afterwards, Filippo hounding him to go out or talk about their feelings. Elia liked it.

“Satisfied?” Filippo asked, smirking down at Elia beside him as Elia stretched out on the bed, Filippo’s soft white sheets.

Elia laughed. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re really loud,” Filippo replied. “I’m sure the neighbors heard.”

“Fuck the neighbors,” Elia replied despite Filippo’s laugh. He didn’t care who heard them. The sex was damn good and everyone deserved to know. As he lay there, Filippo rolled off the bed, grabbing his shirt off the floor and pulling it on. Elia had no intention of moving, at least for a minute. Glancing over, he let his gaze wander down Filippo’s body as Filippo pulled on his underwear, over his tattoos, colorful and bright against his skin.

“You gotta get up,” Filippo said. “Ele will be home soon.”

Elia hummed, unconcerned. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked before he thought about it and Filippo didn’t look at him, buttoning up his jeans. 

“My parents are coming home tomorrow. You can’t come over.”

Filippo checked his appearance in the mirror as Elia watched him, flicking his hair into the right places, inspecting the bruise Elia had left on his collar bone.

“What if we went somewhere?” Elia wasn’t sure he was asking. It wasn’t as if he cared to see Filippo outside of the bedroom. And he was pretty sure Filippo didn’t care to see him.

“Like a club?” Filippo asked, rubbing at the bruise.

Sitting up, Elia reached for his shirt, pulling it on. “It could just be food or something.” He shrugged.

Filippo paused, looking at him in the mirror before turning to face him. “Like a date?” he asked, eyebrow rising, and Elia scoffed.

“Not like a date,” he said, rolling his eyes. They weren’t dating. They were hooking up. There was a big difference. “Just hanging out. Eating food. No big deal.”

Filippo ran his tongue over his lip ring slowly, and Elia had to look away. It simply wasn’t fair that Filippo could turn him on so easily.

“Typically when you eat food with someone you’re sleeping with, that would be considered a date,” he said, as though explaining it to a child.

Elia scoffed, sliding off the bed and searching for his pants. “Forget it then. It was just a suggestion.”

He didn’t even know why he cared. He and Filippo had slept together a few times. They’d never actually had a conversation longer than a few minutes, and from what Elia knew about dating (which wasn’t much), you needed to do more than that.

Pulling up his jeans, he checked for his phone, ignoring Filippo behind him. He should never have brought it up. Now Filippo probably thought he was interested in that, in dating, and he wasn’t. At least, he was pretty sure he wasn’t. Filippo was Filippo, a good-looking, outgoing, beautiful guy that Elia hooked up with on occasion. He wasn’t anything more than that.

“Elia,” Filippo said as Elia started to leave, pausing at the door and turning to face him. Filippo stood behind him, head tilted to the side. “Would you like to go out with me tomorrow?”

Elia stared for a second and then frowned. “You don’t have to make fun,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m going, okay? I’ll see you next time you want to hook up.”

“And here I thought maybe maybe you’d want to,” Filippo replied before Elia could yank open the door. “But we can keep doing it this way.”

Pausing, Elia surveyed Filippo. They still didn’t know each other well enough to know when the other was joking.

“Are you serious?” he asked after a minute, and Filippo smiled. 

“I think you like me, Elia,” he said slowly. “And I think I like you too. So I say we give it a shot.”

It wasn’t how Elia had ever been asked out before, but he couldn’t help the smiling blooming on his face as he came back to Filippo.

“Let’s do it,” he said, planting a kiss on Filippo’s lips as Filippo laughed. “How long do we have until Ele comes home?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” Filippo replied, hands sliding to Elia’s hips as Elia grinned.

“Plenty of time,” he allowed, kissing Filippo again. Yes, they had plenty of time.


	8. Elia and Filo at the Christmas Party

Elia frowned as he leaned against the wall, watching Gio talking to Sofia, watching as she laughed and touched his arm. How was Gio so much better at this than he was?

Crossing his arms, Elia didn’t even notice the guy stepping up beside him until he spoke.

“Who are you and why do you look so pathetically sad?”

Looking over, Elia’s eyes slid over the guy’s messy, half-bleached hair, grown out dark roots, a silver ring around his bottom lip, the beer in his hand. Elia was pretty sure he didn’t know this guy, but he was at Martino’s party, so he must know someone there.

“I’m Elia,” he replied finally, turning back to where Sofia and Gio were still talking, obviously flirting. “And my best friend is hitting on my future girlfriend.”

The guy beside him followed his line of vision, arching an eyebrow at Sofia as though he wasn’t impressed. Elia didn’t know how he couldn’t be. She was freaking gorgeous.

“Future girlfriend, huh?” he asked, taking a swig of his drink. “What do you know about her exactly?”

“Her name is Sofia and she plays volleyball.”

The guy snorted, laughing as Elia turned to him, frowning.

“A match made in heaven.”

What did he know? Elia didn’t even know who this guy was or why he was at a radio Christmas party. He’d only come because Martino had invited Sofia in the first place. But Sofia was talking to Gio and Martino and Niccolò were making out in the kitchen. Elia didn’t want to know where Luca was, and he was stuck here talking to some guy he didn’t even know.

“Who are you anyway?”

The guy leaned against the wall with him, in a casual sort of way, as though he was as bored as Elia. “I’m Filippo. Jack to Marti’s Rose.”

“What?” Elia asked, confused, and Filippo smiled.

“Never mind. I’m Eleonora’s brother.”

Elia nodded instead, searching the room for the girls. They were sitting in a tight group, probably gossiping. Elia didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in any of them. He wasn’t interested in anyone except Sofia, and she was busy now.

He wasn’t sure why he’d let himself be talked into coming so be could be the odd one out, but he couldn’t bail this early, not when it clearly meant something to Martino. So he glanced at Filippo, who was watching him thoughtfully.

In his pocket, Elia’s fingers closed over the joint he’d stashed there just in case this party was terrible. Now seemed like as good a time as any.

Pulling it out, he turned it over in his fingers, holding it up to Filippo.

“You wanna smoke?” he asked, and Filippo paused a second, as though thinking it over, but he shrugged in the end.

“Sure.”

“Not in here,” Elia said, pocketing the joint and nodding toward the door. “Marti would kill us.”

Elia caught Filippo’s amused smile, but he didn’t say anything about it as he led the way out.

Downstairs, the air blew a chill down Elia’s jacket as he and Filippo settled in the alley near Marti’s apartment and he lit the joint, taking a drag and feeling the burn of smoke in his lungs.

“So you like that girl?” Filippo asked as Elia handed him the joint, leaning against the cold stone wall of the building.

Elia shrugged. “She’s hot.”

Filippo blew out the smoke with a laugh, and Elia didn’t know what Filippo found so amusing about him all the time.

“You’re one of those straight guys.”

Straight guys? Elia arched an eyebrow, watching Filippo take another drag, lips closing around the joint. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll fuck anyone as long as she’s pretty,” Filippo replied, stretching out his hand to pass the joint, but Elia didn’t take it right away, turning to face him.

“Why’d you say ‘straight guy’?” he asked, taking the joint finally.

“Because you are.”

“And you aren’t?” Elia didn’t know why it mattered that he was straight.

“No,” Filippo replied simply, watching Elia frown. “Does that bother you?”

“No, of course not,” Elia said quickly, taking a long drag so he could stop talking. He didn’t care if Filippo was gay or bi or pan or whatever else there was to be. Licking his lips, he exhaled the smoke through his nose. “So you think I’m a stereotypical straight guy?”

Filippo plucked the joint from his fingers, propping a foot up against the wall as he took a hit. Elia wanted to know the answer. After all, apparently he wasn’t at the top of anyone’s to-fuck list. Gay or straight.

“I don’t really know you,” he said, blowing the smoke between them.

Frowning, Elia didn’t try to take the joint back, watching Filippo smoke instead, soft lips curled around it as he inhaled. Elia didn’t want to be the stereotypical straight guy, even if it might mean hooking up with Sofia at some point. He didn’t want strangers to think he was an asshole.

“What if I wasn’t straight?” he said finally, watching Filippo, who didn’t react.

“But you are.”

Elia knew he liked girls. That was one thing he knew for sure. He liked their soft curves and long hair, the way they rolled their eyes at him when he was being stupid. He’d never thought about guys like that, not until Martino had come out to them and he’d had a thought, a brief contemplation in the back of his mind about what Martino saw in guys instead of girls. Since then, he’d wondered, let his mind dwell on it in the dark hours of the night, always shaking it away before morning.

“But what if I wasn’t?” he asked again, quieter.

Filippo paused, glancing at Elia. “Then maybe you wouldn’t be stereotypical.”

Elia took the joint Filippo handed to him, fingers brushing against his for a second and he looked up, but Filippo wasn’t watching him anymore, eyes down the dark alley instead.

“We should probably get back upstairs,” Filippo said and Elia took a much-needed hit. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, if Filippo even cared.

Elia finished off the joint, exhaling the smoke into the dim light of the street lamp and snuffing it out on the pavement.

“Hey, Filo,” he said as Filippo turned to head back inside, and Elia shivered at the cold breeze grazing across his neck, or maybe it was the way Filippo’s dark eyes settled on him as he glanced back. “Could I text you maybe?”

His heart thudded against his ribcage as Filippo paused, biting his bottom lip, rolling his lip ring between his teeth, and Elia felt an unfamiliar ripple of unease in his stomach.

At length, Filippo smiled and Elia swallowed, nervous. “If you want my number, you’ve got to earn it, Eli.”

Elia wasn’t sure what that meant, but it wasn’t a no, so he let out his breath and smiled to himself as he followed Filippo back inside. He’d get his number one way or another.


	9. Filo Cooks for Elia

“Did you make your own sauce?” Elia asked, peering over Filippo’s shoulder, sounding decently impressed, and Filippo rolled his eyes.

“Did you think you’re the only one who knows how to cook?”

Elia shrugged, moving to his side and leaning against the cabinets as Filo punched down the pizza dough and started shaping it into a disk.

“I’m the only one who’s done it so far in this relationship,” Elia replied, quirking his eyebrows when Filippo glanced at him. He smirked around his beer bottle as Filippo twisted his mouth, unimpressed.

That wasn’t totally true. Filippo had brought Elia breakfast plenty of times. So what if it was just cookies and coffee? It counted.

“Then prepare to be amazed,” Filippo told him, leaning over to kiss Elia.

Elia responded enthusiastically, setting down his bottle and sliding his arms around Filippo’s neck.

“If you want to eat, you shouldn’t do that,” Filippo murmured against his mouth, but Elia didn’t let go.

“I’m hungry for something else,” Elia replied, eyes dark with intent as Filippo laughed at him, shoving him back playfully. 

“Why don’t you help me out and it’ll go faster?”

Elia took another swig of his beer before joining Filippo at the counter, their hips pressed together as Filippo passed him a completed circle of dough.

“What kind of pizza are we making?” Elia asked, seeming to take it seriously as Filippo passed over his homemade sauce and he spread it on the dough.

“A classic,” Filippo replied, grabbing the mozzarella. “Margherita.”

“Now who’s a boring gay?” Elia asked, laughing as Filippo bumped him with his hip.

“Still Marti.”

It was stupid how much Filippo enjoyed this, hanging around with Elia, making pizza on a Saturday evening like a boring old married couple. Filippo would have thought he’d hate having a boyfriend, having someone he had to tell where he was going, when he was going to be back, having someone waiting for him to text, but it wasn’t like that at all. He even kind of liked knowing that Elia was out there thinking about him.

“Oops,” Elia said as Filippo was distracted slicing the mozzarella.

Looking up, Filippo wasn’t fooled by the sauce that had somehow made its way onto Elia’s neck or the way Elia was smiling at him.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Filippo said, knowing that wasn’t what Elia wanted when Elia grabbed his arm, pulling him back and crowding into his space.

“I’m just a mess, Filo,” he said, eyebrows up, eyes wide, stretching his neck back as the drop of sauce inched towards his collarbone.

“You are,” Filippo agreed. “Maybe we should forget this whole dinner thing. Order out instead? How do you feel about salad?”

Filippo laughed at the disgusted look on Elia’s face.

“Salad is not a meal,” he protested. “It’s the start of a meal, if that.” He paused, sighing at Filippo, looking a little pathetic with the sauce on his neck, his plan gone awry. “If you’re not going to help, could you at least get a towel?”

For a second, Filippo merely smiled at Elia’s frown. Elia was so easy to read, an open book for Filippo, and Filippo liked it. He liked that he never had to guess with Elia.

He didn’t reach for the towel sitting on the counter, turning to Elia instead and leaning into his neck, careful to take his time licking the sauce off, letting his tongue linger against Elia’s skin, feeling Elia lift his chin.

“Better?” he asked when he moved back, and Elia paused, glancing at the half-finished pizza on the counter. As Filippo watched, Elia swiped a finger through the sauce, bringing it up to Filippo’s face and placing it under the corner of his mouth.

“Now you’ve got a little something,” Elia said, and Filippo didn’t laugh, waiting for Elia to stretch up and lick off his mess, moving his chin a little to capture Elia’s mouth in a kiss, catching Elia’s laugh against his lips.

For a moment, Filippo forgot about dinner, about the oven heating up behind him. He forgot about everything except Elia’s mouth, Elia’s hands clutching the back of his neck, Elia’s tongue sliding against his, sucking in a breath through his nose as Elia didn’t let the kiss end.

“Do you still want dinner?” he asked finally, once they had to break away for air, once Elia grinned at him and nodded slowly.

“I want everything,” Elia replied, and Filippo didn’t reply this time, but he did smile as he turned back to the counter and Elia slid in against his back, nose pressed to his shoulder blade. Elia wanted everything, and somehow, Filippo was ready to give it to him.


	10. Elia Takes the Gay Test

Elia took the beer Martino handed him, sinking into Filippo’s couch and blinking slowly. The air was filled with smoke from the joint they were passing around, though Martino insisted he and Nico weren’t taking part, instead cuddling up together at the other end of the couch.

“How can you stand watching this?” Elia asked, gesturing at Martino and Nico, and Filippo looked up from his beer, as though confused, following Elia’s hand to the couch where Martino had his face pressed to Nico’s. They were always like this these days, especially when it was just the boys, disgustingly in love.

Gio merely rolled his eyes, waving Elia away.

“You’re just jealous that you don’t someone to do that with.”

Elia was not jealous, and he said so, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Marti’s living his best gay life,” Filippo said simply, tossing a shoe at Marti and Nico, who flinched away from each other.

“Hey,” Martino protested, pushing the shoe off his lap and glaring at Filippo. 

“Hey yourself,” Filippo replied. “This is a group hang. So join the group.”

Martino rolled his eyes, but he slid away from Nico, still managing to keep an arm around his waist. Nico didn’t look the least bit embarrassed.

“How’d you even know you were gay?” Luca asked from his spot on the floor, stacking the empty beer bottles on the coffee table.

“How’d you know you were straight?” Filippo asked simply, and Luca frowned as he thought over the question.

Martino let his head fall on Nico’s shoulder as he shrugged. “I just always knew, I guess.”

“What about that test?” Nico asked, and Elia knew Nico had just let a secret slip by the way Martino reacted, pulling away and shooting him a look.

“What test?” he asked eagerly, and Martino seemed to deflate.

“Nothing. It was just a dumb internet test to see how gay you are.”

“There’s a scale?” Luca asked, sounding confused.

“Kinsey Scale,” Gio piped up, and sometimes Elia wondered where he got all this information from.

“What did you score, Marti?” Elia asked, curious.

Martino made a face. “Well, I cheated, so I didn’t technically get the right results.”

“You cheated on an internet test? What’s even the point?”

Martino shifted, looking uncomfortable, and Filippo spoke up a second later, drawing the attention away from him.

“We should all take the test,” he said, a grin on his face. “See where we fall.”

It sounded dumb to Elia, but he’d had plenty of beer and no one protested when Filippo grabbed his laptop from the kitchen table. He leaned back as Filippo pulled one up and handed the laptop off to Luca, who took it eagerly, entering his answers.

“This says I’m mostly straight,” Luca announced a few minutes later. 

Elia rolled his eyes. “You can’t tell your sexuality from a test,” he said, and he was surprised when Filippo dropped the computer into his lap.

“Then it’s your turn,” he said simply, and Gio laughed next to him.

Fine, Elia thought, restarting the test and going through his answers. They were ridiculous questions, about favorite colors and food, nothing that would actually indicate anything. Still, he clicked the calculate button and waited impatiently for his answer.

Somewhat gay.

Elia frowned at the screen, only looking up when Filippo spoke.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, as though he knew what was on the screen, a curl to his lips, and Elia wasn’t sure what to say.

“Somewhat gay,” Gio said, leaning over and reading the screen.

“Hey,” Elia protested. 

Across from him, Filippo smiled. “Like you said, it’s just a dumb internet test.”

“My turn,” Gio said, hauling the laptop away from Elia as Elia sat there.

How could he be ‘somewhat gay’? What did that even mean? He’d never liked a guy before. He’d never checked anyone out, never thought about kissing one.

Elia wasn’t sure he even cared about what a stupid test said. It wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t even real. A real test would be kissing a guy, but Elia didn’t want to do that… right? He never had before.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he stepped around Luca and headed for the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Martino asked as he passed him.

“I need another drink,” Elia muttered, but he didn’t head for the fridge once he reached the kitchen. Instead, he leaned up against the counter and frowned at the dingy tile behind the sink. 

Somehow, it bothered him, the test results. Not because it said he was into guys, but how could a test know something he didn’t.

Elia looked up sharply as he heard footsteps, Filippo entering the kitchen. Filippo didn’t greet him at first, setting a couple empty bottles in the sink and turning to face him, leaning against the counter the same as him.

“Everything okay in here?”

“Fine,” Elia replied, not meeting his eyes, sighing at his shoes.

“It’s just a quiz,” Filippo said after a minute. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Glancing up, Elia frowned. “How can it know something I don’t?”

Filippo paused before moving over next to him, fixing him with a look. “It doesn’t,” he assured him. “You know who you are. Are you this serious about what kind of cheese you are too?”

Elia knew he was teasing, but he couldn’t shake the weird nagging that maybe he didn’t know everything about himself.

After a second, he heard Filippo sigh, saw him shift next to him.

“There’s really only one way to figure out if the quiz is right,” he said, watching Elia.

“Kiss a guy?” Elia asked, glancing up, and Filippo nodded simply.

“If you want to.”

Ten minutes ago, Elia would have said no. Ten minutes ago, he wouldn’t have been standing here alone with Filo, contemplating the decision. What was he afraid of anyway? That maybe he was into guys? Martino was into guys, and things were fine. No one treated him any differently.

“Okay,” he said finally, turning to Filippo. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Filippo’s eyebrows went up. “Me?”

Elia nodded obviously. “Yeah. You’re the only gay guy I know aside from Marti, and I seriously don’t want to kiss him.”

Filippo laughed, almost as if he couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into this, but he pulled himself together a second later. “Alright, you’re Marti’s friend, so I’ll do this favor for you.”

Elia licked his lips, suddenly nervous as Filippo stepped forward, not bothering to go slow, leaning in before he knew it and kissing him.

Filippo’s lips were soft, tongue slick as it slid into his mouth, and Elia felt his heart thud a couple times in his chest. It wasn’t any different than kissing a girl, really, still lips and tongues and hands on his face, but Filippo was a bit taller than him, forcing his chin to tilt up, changing the angle to something unfamiliar, strangely exciting.

Elia swallowed as Filippo pulled away, his lips tingling, cheeks warm as he opened his eyes and let out a breath.

“I think that test was wrong,” he breathed after a second, with Filippo watching him thoughtfully. “I think I’m a little more than somewhat into guys.”

Filippo smiled, shaking his head, tongue running over his lips. “If you’re going you use that as an excuse to kiss me again, you’re going have to try harder.”

“Okay,” Elia agreed. “I’ll try harder.”

Maybe it was just a stupid internet test, but as Filippo laughed, he was glad he’d taken it after all.


	11. A Disastrous First Date

Glancing up at the ominous clouds, Elia smiled at Filippo’s arm pressing against his as they stood at the bus stop.

“The bus should have been here by now,” he said, peering down the road, hiking his bag over his shoulder.

“This is the universe telling you I deserve a Ferrari,” Filippo replied, nudging Elia and arching his eyebrows.

“A little much for a first date,” Elia said, but he found himself thinking maybe he should have sprung for more than a public bus when the road remained stubbornly empty of busses. At least then they wouldn’t be standing awkwardly on the side of the road.

It was a first date, a first date with Filippo, and Elia couldn’t deny that he was nervous. Everything had to go well or else Filippo might start rethinking this whole thing.

“I’m worth it,” Filippo assured him, pulling out his phone, and shit, that was a bad sign. He was already bored with Elia. “Here’s why the bus isn’t coming,” Filo said a second later, though, flashing a Twitter feed at Elia. “There’s a strike.”

“Fuck,” Elia groaned. Of course there was a strike on the day he actually wanted to go somewhere. The day he and Filippo had chosen to finally do this, after weeks of dancing around each other, blatantly flirting in front of their friends until Martino rolled his eyes and said, “For God’s sake, just go out already.” So they did.

“Well, where are we going?” Filippo asked, and Elia looked up as he thought he felt a raindrop on his cheek, but the clouds remained stubbornly grey. “Can we walk there?”

Sighing, Elia pulled out his phone, keeping it away from Filippo’s curious gaze, bringing up the map.

“It’s a thirty minute walk,” he said, glancing at Filippo, who shrugged.

“Since we don’t have a Ferrari, it’s the next best thing.”

Elia felt a little better when Filippo smiled at him and knocked elbows with him. It was just one setback. He could deal with that, and he turned with Filippo, leading the way down the sidewalk instead.

*

“So what’s in the bag?” Filippo asked as they walked, letting Elia navigate.

“It’s a surprise,” Elia said, and Filippo grinned.

“I like surprises. I also like shiny things, for future reference.”

Elia’s heart jumped for a second, catching Filippo’s eye. So maybe there would be a future.

“It’s not shiny,” he said, and Filippo made a face. “But I think you’ll like it. I hope you’ll like it.”

“Elia,” Filippo said slowly, arm bumping into his as they walked, passing old buildings and cobblestone alleys, “are you nervous about this date?”

“No,” Elia scoffed even though it was a total lie. The fact that someone like Filippo would even want to go out with him seemed insane to a certain degree. Sleep with him, maybe, but no one ever wanted to _date_ him.

Filippo laughed, as though he knew Elia was lying. He didn’t press the issue, though, and Elia took a breath as they turned the corner to the entrance of the park.

Coming up on the gate, though, Elia stopped, staring at the lock wrapped around it. “It’s locked,” he said dumbly. “It’s never locked.”

He’d been to this park a hundred times and never once had the gates been closed. Shaking the lock, he stepped back, frowning. Beyond the bars of the gate, tree leaves blustered in the wind picking up as they stood there.

This was just perfect, Elia thought. First the bus, now the park. Was he cursed?

“It’s not a big deal,” Filippo said, stepping up next to him. “We can go see a movie.”

“There’s nothing good out,” Elia said without thinking, still blinking at the lock. Maybe they could climb over, except for the spikes on top of the gate. He doubted Filippo would be interested in doing that considering the shirt he was wearing--silk, Elia thought.

“Avengers is out,” Filippo said, and Elia turned to him, eyebrow raised.

“You like superhero movies?” He hadn’t expected that, and Filippo grinned.

“I like hot guys in tight suits,” he corrected Elia, reaching for his neck and pulling him in close. “It doesn’t have to be a perfect first date.”

It was like Filippo’s words triggered something as the clouds opened up and the rain came down. Elia jerked back from him as cold drops hit the back of his neck. Blinking water out of his eyes, he grabbed Filippo’s hand, pulling him away from the gate, to the relative safety of a building overhang as the rain pounded the ground, splashing up onto his jeans.

Filippo stared down at his shirt, and Elia almost laughed at his expression, as though insulted it would dare rain on his shirt.

“You did this,” Elia said when Filippo finally looked up, glaring at the sky. “You said it didn’t have to be perfect and then this happened.”

“Coincidence,” Filippo dismissed him, shaking his head. 

Standing against the building, Elia sighed. This wasn’t how he’d pictured their first date.

“You gonna tell me what’s in the bag now?” Filippo asked after a second, and Elia let out a breath. He supposed there wasn’t any point in keeping the surprise to himself. Any hope of a normal date was ruined by the rain pouring down. 

Pulling the bag around his front, he unzipped it and pulled out a bottle of wine, watching Filippo’s eyebrows go up.

“Please tell me you also have grapes on the vine and gross fancy cheeses in there,” Filippo said, and Elia felt his cheeks go hot. Maybe it had been a stupid idea. Filippo took the wine out of his hand and popped the cork. “Were you going to take me on a picnic, Santini?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, and he checked Filippo for a second, for any sign that he thought Elia was ridiculous. He should have just taken him to a bar instead, gotten coffee or something easy, something that wouldn’t have resulted in them hiding from the rain, unable to go anywhere, tucked against the side of a building on an abandoned street. “It was a stupid idea.”

“No,” Filippo said simply, offering Elia the first drink from the bottle. “It’s nice.”

“Walking thirty minutes only to get soaked is nice?” Elia drank a little too much. He needed to take the edge off, the nerves building under his skin as Filippo laughed.

“It’s a date we won’t forget.”

“I wouldn’t call it much of a date,” Elia admitted, handing the bottle to Filippo, who took a sip. He had cups somewhere, buried in his bag, but this seemed more fitting, passing a whole bottle between them as water dripped off the overhang.

“Mmm,” Filippo hummed thoughtfully, leaning against the wall and turning to Elia. “You know what you’re supposed to do on a date?”

Elia shrugged. “Go to dinner, ask questions about the other person’s family.”

Filippo smiled, soft, and Elia’s stomach did an excited little flip, unexpected. “You’re supposed to learn about each other,” he said easily, pressing the wine bottle into Elia’s hand, and Elia frowned at it.

“What have you learned about me?” He didn’t think they’d done much other than run into problem after problem so far today. Not much time to learn anything.

Filippo stepped closer, tilting his head to the side, and Elia’s heart seemed to speed up, the same way it had when he’d actually asked Filippo to do this. “You care,” Filippo said, eyes flicking to Elia’s. “You try. You’re secretly a romantic. Either that or you’ve watched way too many romantic comedies. Which isn’t a bad thing,” he said as Elia rolled his eyes. “I love a good romantic comedy.”

Elia paused, lifting his chin to Filippo. “And what would happen if this was a romantic comedy?” He might have seen a few, forced to watch with his mom on occasion, and he hadn’t totally hated them all. 

“We’d kiss in the rain,” Filippo said, a smile on his lips, and Elia laughed.

“I’d rather not get pneumonia.”

Filippo nodded thoughtfully. “Then here will have to do.” He checked around quickly, making sure they were truly alone on the street, but the rain had chased off any pedestrians, leaving them by themselves, and Filippo leaned in and kissed Elia right there, water dripping onto his shoulder, and Elia closed his eyes just for a second, enjoying the way time slowed down with Filippo’s lips on his. Maybe it hadn’t been such a terrible first date after all.

When Filippo moved back, Elia couldn’t help smiling. “I guess you’re not secretly romantic.”

“No,” Filippo agreed, taking the wine back from Elia and swallowing a mouthful. “I’m not secret at all.”

“We should probably find somewhere to dry off,” Elia said after a moment, and Filippo nodded.

“I know a cafe nearby,” he said, handing Elia back the wine and turning away from the park. “We’ll try this date thing again.”

Elia thought it had been a pretty good date, all things considered, and he joined Filippo as they headed down the sidewalk and left the park behind.


	12. Filo Likes Elia's Fluffy Hair

“Has your hair always been this soft?” Filippo let his eyes graze over Elia’s head in his lap, pushing his fingers through Elia’s hair slowly. He supposed he had never paid much attention to Elia’s hair, but it was thick and soft, locks falling into his eyes as Elia’s eyes flicked up to him, away from his phone, a goofy smile spreading over his face.

“Yes,” he said simply, but he closed his eyes as Filippo pushed his hands through his hair again, like a cat being petted in just the right way.

Filippo wasn’t one of those people who got off on things like hair, but he did appreciate good hygiene, and Elia’s hair always sort of smelled like papayas.

“That feels nice,” Elia murmured as Filippo let his fingers press against Elia’s scalp. “Like one of those fancy salons where a hot girl washes your hair first.”

Pausing, Filippo tilted his head at Elia, who looked completely content, head in his lap, phone loose in his hand as he rests it on his stomach. “Fancy salons? Where do you get your hair cut?”

Elia shrugged, opening his eyes finally and blinking up at Filippo. “Wherever’s cheapest.”

Groaning, Filippo leaned back against the couch, his hand stilling in Elia’s hair. “I still have so much to teach you, Eli.”

Elia didn’t seem bothered by his reproach as he smiled. “Maybe I’ll just cut it all off and start from scratch.”

“No.” Filippo frowned, the word coming out too fast, and Elia grinned as though he knew what Filippo was thinking. “Fucker.”

Setting his phone aside, Elia sat up despite Filippo’s frown, sitting on his knees on the couch. The television played in the background, forgotten by both of them, and Filippo shifted to face Elia.

It had only been a few months, a few months of Elia worming his way into Filippo’s heart despite his better judgment, with his goofy smile, his overabundance of confidence, a charm that shouldn’t have been so intriguing.

He didn’t hesitate to push his hands into Elia’s hair again, and Elia leaned into him, letting Filippo tilt his head back, fingers sliding through the soft, fluffy locks.

“You’re like a spoiled cat,” he said, and Elia didn’t disagree, nodding as he ducked into Filippo’s mouth for a lingering kiss.

He didn’t care, Filippo decided as they kissed, lazy and slow, his fingers buried in Elia’s soft hair. He didn’t care where Elia got his hair cut, whether it was a nice salon or a dirty hole in the wall, as long as Elia let him do this, and as he felt Elia’s grin against his lips, he was pretty sure he didn’t need to worry about that.


	13. Elia Wears Filo's Shirt

“Move over, Luchino,” Elia said, shoving Luca over on the couch and plopping down, setting his fresh beer bottle on the table and kicking up his feet. He grabbed the controller out of Luca’s hands.

“Hey,” Luca protested, and Elia arched an eyebrow while Martino rolled his eyes from the chair, settled in Nico’s lap.

“You were just keeping it warm, Luchi,” Elia reminded him, scoring a goal against Gio, who groaned and tossed the controller.

Across from the couch, Filippo looked bored, scrolling through his phone. “Is this all you guys do when you hang out?” he asked, glancing up at Martino.

“What do you do?” Luca asked before Martino could defend his idiot friends and FIFA.

“Go out,” Filippo said, as though it was obvious. His gaze swept all of them. “Get drunk. Hook up with someone.”

Elia’s eyes shot to him for just a second, not long enough that anyone noticed. Martino rolled his eyes.

“We go out.”

“To high school parties where the only thing to drink is shitty beer,” Filippo pointed out.

“My God, Luchino, why are you so hot?” Elia asked, shoving Luca further over on the couch, not that there was anywhere to go between him and Gio. Pulling off his sweatshirt, Elia dumped it on the coffee table and let out a sigh.

“Is that a pink shirt?” Luca asked, staring at Elia, who glanced down.

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s salmon.”

Gio laughed. “Do you even know what salmon is?”

“It’s a fish,” Elia said shortly. “And a color. This color.” He gestured at the tee shirt he was wearing, perfectly pink to Marti’s eyes, with a little pineapple stitched over the chest and he paused, turning to Filippo, who seemed overly interested in his phone again than in the conversation taking place.

“Don’t you have a pink shirt, Filo?” he asked, and Filippo looked up, eyebrows up.

“What?”

“You have a shirt just like that. You wore it to Pride, and you made fun of me for not wearing something bright. I remember because Nico wouldn’t shut up about how much he likes pineapples afterward.”

“Pineapples are good,” Nico piped up, hugging Martino’s waist and setting his chin on his shoulder. Martino gestured back at him as if to say, ‘see?’

Filippo rolled his eyes. “Marti, a million people have pink shirts like that.”

Martino frowned, glancing at Elia instead. Gio was watching him too, the wheels turning in his head.

“Where’d you get the shirt, Elia?” Gio asked easily, and Elia made a face.

“How should I know?”

“Most people know where their clothes come from.”

Elia jerked his shoulders, gaze darting to Filippo, who had his fingers resting against his mouth.

“What the hell is going on?” Martino asked, looking between them, and Filippo sighed after a second.

“We’re found out, Eli,” he said finally, and Elia grimaced, glaring down at the shirt.

“This is your fault,” was all he said, and Martino stared.

“Will someone just explain what’s going on? Why are you wearing Filippo’s clothes?”

Elia sighed, lifting his gaze, ignoring Luca’s open-mouthed stare next to him, Gio’s eyebrows in his hairline, Nico’s barely hidden smile in Martino’s shoulder.

“Because I was at his place earlier and…” He hesitated, looking up at Filippo for the answer.

“And let’s just say his shirt needed to be cleaned after what happened.”

“Oh my God,” Martino said, almost unable to believe it. Elia’s face was bright red, the most embarrassed Martino thought he’d ever seen him, shifting away from Luca’s confused look.

Gio, to his credit, managed to shut his mouth and grin at both of them. “Congratulations, I guess.”

Martino could feel Nico laughing behind him, and he shook his head.

“So you two are dating?”

Filippo shrugged, meeting Elia’s gaze. “We’re just seeing how things go,” he said after a second, which explained nothing but the shirt, so Martino sighed.

“Luchi, it’s your turn,” Gio said as they sat there a beat too long. Martino caught the breath of relief Elia let out as Luca grabbed the controller and the conversation turned to FIFA again.

Shaking his head, Martino couldn’t help smiling as Nico kissed him. Whatever was going on with Elia and Filippo, it was much bigger than a shirt, and it was out in the open now as Elia and Filippo didn’t even bother to hide their grins when Martino turned around and settled back against Nico to watch Gio crush Luca in the game.


End file.
